Disposer
by shobobbles
Summary: I know this isn't a HP story but I wasn't sure where to put it. People who are different die, Melissa knows this. After all it's her job to clean them up


**A/N: To all the people who were reading my Harry Potter Fremione story, I apologise. I got so caught up with work and uni and everything else that I forgot and by the time I had time to write it again, it just seemed like I had left it for too long. I'm not promising a multi-chap this time, cause lord knows I never keep my promises for them but here's something I've been working on for you guys, let me know what you think. **

**xoxo **

**Shobobbles xx**

DISPOSERS

I wonder sometimes what would've happened if I'd just been honest. Not with my mother, my father or with anyone else for that matter. Just myself. If I had just been honest with myself. I was was young when I first discovered the truth. I was at the age where my understanding of the world and the people in it wasn't fully formed yet, wasn't fully there. But even at that age, there was one thing that I knew. To be different than what was considered norm was wrong, to be different than the norm got you killed.

In my world, the land of Laketree, society laid out the rules for us to follow. Laid out the lives we had to lead and the people just did what they were told. They followed the law, never questioning things that happened, never straying from the paths they had been assigned. Most were the normal, they weren't different or they ignored the fact. Some chose not to ignore the fact they were different but chose to hide it from the world because they were scared. And then there were those who knew they were different and flaunted it for the entire world to see. The government was leniant, they allowed small differences in the populace but this third group, the flaunters, always pushed the boundaries, sometimes too far.

They would come in the middle of the night, silent for every step, every moment, every breath. No one knows how it was done, how they got in but the next morning, the most terrible, horrified scream would be heard from the houses of those who pushed too far. At the beginning, I've heard, when this started, people would run to the house to see what was wrong, to see if they could help the screamer. But that stopped a very long time ago. The sight that met them in the house was too horrific, too scarring. For, whilst they were sleeping, the different would be entirely skinned. Every piece of flesh pulled back from what it was attached to and then was hung at the window, like a curtain. The muscles were then removed, detached from the skeleton and hung around the room as though they were streamers at a birthday party. The organs would be taken from their places in the skeleton and placed around the room, in places generally reserved for ornaments. The skeleton itself would be smashed to pieces, then the pieces smashed to dust.

I wish that this was knowledge that I had heard second-hand and that it was not a personal recollection, but unfortunately for me it is a first-hand memory. In this world, we are assigned 'Life Paths'. This includes out home, who our husbands will be, how many children we will have and of course what we will do for a living. Following our paths is Rule One of the laws that keep our society functioning smoothly. My job is one that provides a never ending river of nightmares. My job was to dispose of the remains of the different. To unhook the streamers, to take down the organs and the skin and to collect what was left of the bones. I am a Disposer and my name is Melissa.

In our society, being a Disposer was to be doing a job that was extremely well-respected – although the job was not highly sought after. I personally thought that it was the worst job on the totem pole but once again I was pushing against the crowd with that thought. Anyway, back on point. People admired both what we did and us ourselves for doing it but they openly admitted they would not like to do what we did, that they wouldn't be able to without losing their breakfasts. The other Disposers, they were proud of what they did for a living (I like to think of myself separately from them) and for a while, when I first started and before I knew better, I was proud too. But this job it gets to you, and after a while it got to me. I couldn't cope with this job. To do it properly, they way it should be done, you need two things; a strong stomach and a cold heart. I have neither.

A/N: Sorry for nattering on at youse. This is just a quick end note to say, I don't have any more of this written yet but if you want me to continue it I can, although I'm not quite sure when I'll be able to update.


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